Komm, süsser Tod
by trucejopseh
Summary: The only way left to go was forward, despite the pain of leaving the dream behind. Post 2003 anime. Not CoS compliant (I'll only borrow a few characters). Rated M: all warnings inside. [Discontinued ]
1. Prolog: An des Tores

**Komm, süsser Tod**

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 **WARNING: This story contains violence, gore, angst, lots of foul language and a bit of gratuitous German. It _may or may not_ (I dunno yet) include: non-con, torture, depictions of mental ilnesses and other possibly offensive elements.**

 **AN: Hello, everyone, and welcome to my first ever multi chapter fanfiction!**

 **I've wanted to write something like this ever since I saw 'Conqueror of Shamballa', because I wanted to see if even I can come up with a more interesting story. And let's be real, creating something better isn't that hard - every fic about Ed on Earth in 1920's I've read was more compelling than that train wreck of a movie. (Don't worry, these insults aren't serious... for the most part.)**

 **Anyway, the point is - I like this movie despite its problems, but I still think the story could've been better, if they'd changed a few things (*cough*forexamplegettingridofnoah*cough*).**

 **That's why I decided to try 'fixing it' myself. I even planned most of the story out! I know it will probably be the worst written piece of flaming shit you've ever read, but it's a made with passion piece of flaming shit! So, give it a chance! Maybe it won't give you any incurable diseases.**

 **Also, the name of this fic "Komm, s** **üsser Tod" and the lyrics at the beginning are taken from a song with that exact title. It's great and you should listen to it. It's from "The End of Evangelion"- which is also great, but watch it only if you're ready for 97 minutes of _'what the fuck is happening'_.**

 **I feel I'm starting to digress... so,** **let's stop talking about Evangelion and begin Ed's tortu- erm... I mean, Ed's adventure!**

 **SPOILER WARNING: This fic contains spoilers for the end of "Fullmetal Alchemist" and for some parts of "Conqueror of Shamballa". If you haven't seen them, then... what the hell are you doing here?**

 **Timeline: starts just after Ed's transmutation, but the Earth timeline is moved a few years forward. I don't know if it will be of any importance in the story yet, I just felt like changing the year.**

 **Pairings: All I can say that there will be no incest and/or yaoi. Sorry, not my cup of tea.**

 **Disclaimer: "Fullmetal Alchemist", "Fulmettal Alchemist: Conqueror of Shamballa" and all publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of Hiromu Arakawa, studio Bones and Aniplex. The song "Komm, s** **üsser Tod" belongs to Arianne, Shiro Sagisu and Hideaki Anno (apparently he wrote it. The More You Know).** **The original characters and plot are mine.**

* * *

Prolog: An des Tores

* * *

 _I know, I know I've let you down_

 _I've been a fool to myself_

 _I thought that I could_

 _live for no one else_

 _But now through all the hurt & pain_

 _It's time for me to respect_

 _the ones you love_

 _mean more than anything_

 _"Komm süsser Tod", Arianne & Shiro Sagisu_

* * *

He clapped and touched the array on his chest. The blinding light of the transmutation hurt his eyes, so he squeezed them shut. He felt the air changing, becoming lighter; breathing wasn't bringing the dust of the ancient ballroom with it - the transmutation did do _something,_ then. Hoping that all his calculations and measurements were correct, he lifted his eyelids.

Edward thought to himself that he would probably never get used to seeing it. In all honesty, he would rather never see it again; the deep sense of unease that came over him every time he as much as looked at it and the grim causes of every last one of his 'visits' were something he wanted to never again experience. The thought that he would _most likely never see this place again, so don't worry about that_ made his lips curl up momentarily - the morbid irony of that was absurdly hilarious to him.

The Gate's eternal form contrasted sharply with the endless white expanse surrounding him; it stood there, looming over him in an almost threatening way. He ignored the terrifying sculptures at the either side of the door, never turning his gaze from the centre of it; he didn't need a reminder of the sacrifice he was making.

The eye on the front seemed to be staring right at his very core, like it knew exactly what he wanted.

The scariest part was, it probably did.

As on cue, the door opened; thousands of small, purple eyes gazed at him curiously from within it. Swallowing loudly, Edward walked up to the door. Staring at the creatures, he snarled.

"Give me Alphonse back."

Nothing. He felt a pit form in his stomach; he was sure the Gatekeepers knew _precisely_ what he had planned to give in exchange for his brother - if they weren't answering, did it mean that it wasn't enough? Maybe he was supposed to spell it out for the assholes?

"I want to exchange my mind, body and soul for his. It's equivalent."

Still nothing. Apparently, it wasn't. He needed _more._ He pondered about what more could he give. If he was giving all of himself, then what more could he use?

At that moment, an idea came to him. It was rather unfair, and he had doubts if it would even work; if it did, he would be doing a terrible thing to his brother, and, quite frankly, to himself. It made his heart clench, but he had to try. He gritted his teeth and straightened his back. Fierce golden orbs full of determination stared into the darkness and at the purple eyes in it.

"In exchange for my brother, I'm giving you myself, and his memories from the time as a suit of armor." He tried to convince himself that this was better – these four years of their travels were painful, full of sadness and almost completely devoid of happiness. Al could get a second chance for a childhood. _It's better this way._ Besides, it was the only thing he could give – he sure as hell wasn't taking any of Alphonse's body parts.

And still nothing. _What? Still not enough for you?_ Anger flared through him; he didn't have anything else! What were these bastards thinking? Four years worth of memories was _a lot –_ add his life to it, and it was more than equivalent!

"Bastards, I'm giving you more than enough! Are you even more greedy than I thought? What more do you want? Do you want me to beg? Because I'm begging you!" His voice cracked; anger melted into despair. "I need him to be alive. _Please!_ He's the only one who matters, he needs to live. I don't care what happens to me. Kill me, keep me in this darkness with you, _I don't care!"_

He knew he looked pathetic, trembling in front of these creatures, eyes welling up with tears and voice shaking.

He didn't give a fuck. Al was all that mattered.

"Please, I'll do anything. Send me to hell, torture me for all eternity if that's what you want, just give him back!"

Silence. And then - a terrifying noise reached his ears. Laughter.

 _The Gate was laughing._

It was so absurd, Ed almost thought he started hallucinating. But no, it had to be real. The Gatekeepers were cackling; a piercing, high- pitched noise that made his skin crawl. It was probably the most grotesque and distressing sound he had ever heard.

Anxiety welled up in him. Anything that made these monsters laugh like that probably wasn't anything good for him. He didn't care if he lived or died, but torture didn't sound that great. _I need to learn to keep my mouth shut, damn it._

The Gate's horrifying laughter died down after a few minutes. For a moment Edward thought he was back to square one, and prepared himself for more pleading, but something caught his eye. He gasped, and all of his worries, fears, everything - stopped mattering.

Thin hands emerged from the blackness, holding a small, pale boy. He looked around 10 years old; disheveled, sandy colored hair was shading his eyes. They were closed now, but Edward knew them to be a lovely, gray-green color – just like their Mother's beautiful eyes. The hands laid the boy on the white ground, and returned to the Gate.

Alphonse lay there, unmoving. Ed rushed to his side, and hugged him instinctively. Joy overcame him, and he couldn't suppress the tears that poured down his cheeks. _He did it_. He gave Al his body back.

But before he could check this brother's pulse or try to wake him up, that petrifying laughter begun again. He looked up, and saw the same black hands reaching greedily for him. _That was it._ He laid Al down carefully and stood up.

He wasn't afraid anymore. He fixed his biggest mistake, but he was ready to pay for it one last time. Al was back in his body, and he could be happy with their friends. He didn't need him. Winry and others were more than enough.

Edward didn't try to run when the arms wrapped around him. They pulled him inside the void and everything disappeared.

* * *

 **To tell you the truth, I wrote this in like three hours, _and_ after I had finished chapter one - one evening I just thought "Wouldn't it be cool if the story had a prologue? Prologues are cool, right?" That's why this exists. No other reason.**

 **I hope you like the story so far, even though there's not much of it. Don't worry, regardless of the amount of reviews and hits this gets, I'm uploading chapter one tomorrow. But still, any and all reviews are a good thing. Want to congratulate me on my (lack of) writing skills? Tell me your life story? Yell at me for getting everything wrong? Doesn't matter, it's all appreciated.**

 _ **See ya!**_


	2. Kapitel I: Deine Realität

**Komm, süsser Tod**

* * *

 **A/N: Hi! Today I'm giving you the first chapter, because that prologue was kind of short, and, to be honest, shitty. I hope none of you abandoned this story just after that. I like chapter one much better, even though it took me a week to write. It wents through _so many_ edits. You better appreciate it! :P**

 **Let the real deal begin!**

* * *

Kapitel I: Deine Realität

* * *

 _So with sadness in my heart_

 _(I) feel the best thing I could do_

 _is end it all_

 _and leave forever_

 _what's done is done it feels so bad_

 _what once was happy now is sad_

 _I'll never love again_

 _my world is ending_

 _"Komm süsser Tod", Arianne_ _& Shiro Sagisu_

* * *

Everything was dark.

He couldn't see anything except this endless darkness. Trying to lift his eyelids lead to discovering it had the same effect as trying to lift Armstrong - which means it had no effect at all.

He didn't know where he was, how he got there, and how long he's been in this place – _wherever it was_. He could smell a faint stench of garbage, stale vomit, and something coppery; that last smell would set off alarms in his head instantly in any other situation, but, frankly, he was too confused, tired and cold to care at the moment. He tried to remember what happened, but that only gave him an unpleasant headache. _Great._ He ignored it and tried harder. He remembered an… array? Yes! An alchemic array to bring Alphonse back!

As soon as the thought of his brother passed through his mind, he opened his eyes and moved to sit up.

A _very_ bad idea.

He fell back on the dirty, wet pavement of some old side alleyway and couldn't stifle the scream that tore out of his throat. He tried to focus and check his surroundings, but the taste of bile in his throat and the shooting pain impeded his attempts. He swallowed a few times and moaned. The pain was excruciating. His vision dimmed and an involuntary whimper escaped his lips. The injuries had to be severe; he couldn't tell up from down, left from right. Every cell in his body hurt and he detachedly thought that even automail surgery wasn't that bad.

At the memory of that truly _wonderful_ event, another realization reached him - that the pain was positively the worst in his right shoulder and left thigh areas. Not really sure if he wanted to see what he knew was gone, he lifted his head, and looked down at his body. He glanced at his right shoulder and something turned in his stomach. Trying not to puke all over himself became even harder.

His right arm was completely severed; hot, crimson liquid was slowly gushing out of the wound and on the muddy snow. He didn't need to look to know the same was happening with his left leg. He noticed with horror that the wetness he felt earlier at the back of his head wasn't just water or mud - the pool of his own blood had already reached the nearest trash can.

He was, beyond doubt, _fucked_. He had no idea where he was – how he got from that goddamn ballroom to a filthy alley in some cold and dark city, he didn't know (besides, wasn't he supposed to be _dead_ or something?). He couldn't exactly move anywhere in this state, either; he was losing too much blood too fast – he could already feel the waves of tiredness washing over him, and was pretty sure he was going to lose consciousness soon.

After a few minutes of considering his options, he begrudgingly tried the last visible one - calling for help. He lifted his head again, and, ignoring the pain and the growing pool of red, started shouting as loud as he could. "Hello! Hey! Please, help me!"

He waited a few seconds for someone to appear, and when no one came, he decided to try again, this time even louder.

"HEY, ASSHOLES! I NEED SOME HELP HERE!"

He lay his head down and closed his eyes, feeling exhausted. The idea of a nap didn't seem _that_ bad. Surely someone would find him soon and take him to a hospital. Five minutes wouldn't kill him… right?

Suddenly, he heard a noise coming from the entrance to the alley and his head shot up. Someone was standing there, managing to block the glow of the streetlights in the main street. The man was very tall, with broad shoulders and chest. His long, blond hair was tied in a ponytail, and rectangular glasses hung low on his nose. A thick, woolen scarf was covering his mouth, but the top of a beard could be clearly seen. Thin, golden eyes searched for a source of the noise; he noticed the boy lying in the pool of blood, and started running to him.

"Thank god someone heard me, I would've ble…." The rest of the sentence died on his lips, when he noticed who exactly was his rescuer. _Please tell me I'm hallucinating._

The man also stopped dead in his tracks; a sound resembling a dying goose escaped him when he took a closer look at the bloodied boy.

Van Hohenheim was staring at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. After a long while, he managed to formulate something resembling a question.

"E-Edward?"

Edward decided he had enough of unpleasant surprises for one day. He eagerly threw himself into the arms of unconsciousness and proceeded to faint.

* * *

 _hurts_

 _pain pain pain this pain is all i can feel_

 _where am i why does it hurt so much_

 _Al where is my Al i need to see him now_

 _please be okay_

 _envy is staring up at me smiling wickedly_

 _and i see his hand going right through my chest so much blood did i die_

 _envy turns into Al and he stares at me_

 _silently and then_

 _who gets themselves killed so easily you're pathetic_

 _i can't believe i used the stone for you_

 _should've used it for myself_

 _i'm so sorry Al i'm so sorry so sorry sosorrysosorry_

 _Shhh. Calm down, Edward. It's just a bad dream. It's going to be okay._

 _Al walks away and i'm alone again_

 _it hurts_

 _but at least it's warm_

 _my Mother smiles at me softly and touches my cheek_

 _so warm_

 _you're an amazing alchemist my little man you're the best there is_

 _but then why couldn't you make me right you killed me three times edward how could you_

 _she turns into the monster and it starts choking me with its bony hand_

 _then the monster turns into sloth and she slices my stomach open she rips out my intestines reaches for my heart and squeezes_

 _she touches my cheek with her bloodied hand and smiles_

 _it's too hot_

 _too warm it's too warm it burns_

 _Oh no. Your temperature is rising. Shhh, hang in there, Son. You're going to be all right soon._

 _Toowarmtoowarm_

 _it burns where is Al Winry please tell me i need to apologize_

 _but there is no Winry where am i…?_

 _It looks like your temperature has dropped… I hope your sleep will be more peaceful now._

 _and then Al is there. He's back in his body, and he's wonderful, beautiful, perfect, human. He smiles at me and waves his hand. He turns around and starts walking towards the Rockbell's house. Winry's there. He walks up to her, and they go inside. I try to run after them, but I'm too slow-_

Edward woke up with a start. Anxious golden eyes started darting around the room, then settled on a large figure sitting in a nearby chair. He inhaled sharply ('so it wasn't a nightmare, huh?') and immediately regretted it - a sickeningly sweet odor of funeral flowers with undertones of putrid filled his nostrils; he felt bile coming up his throat and tried not to be sick. He swallowed loudly, trying to get rid of the awful taste in his mouth.

Hohenheim must have heard it, because he put his book in his lap and gave him a small smile.

"Hello. How are you feeling?"

How was he feeling? He just woke up from who-knows-how-long sleep full of confusing nightmares, he was feeling nauseous, his right shoulder, left leg, chest and head hurt like hell, he had problems with breathing, it was too hot and his mouth felt like the Eastern Desert. He raised one blond brow and gave the older man a flat look.

"How do you think? I recently lost two limbs and it feels like someone just hit me in the head with a sledgehammer. In other words, I'm feeling fan- _fucking-_ tastic." Ed deadpanned.

Hohenheim made a strange face and stood up.

"I'm going to bring you some water. Do you think you're able to move up on the bed a little? That way it'll be easier for you to drink it."

He left, and Ed tried to prop himself up on his elbow, but the pain in his bosom made it impossible to even take a deeper breath; he could forget about sitting up for now.

The boy groaned and closed his eyes, trying not to think about his current situation. The moment he saw Hohenheim, he realized where he was. The other side of the Gate. That alone would make anyone scared and disoriented… The fact that he was missing two limbs wasn't exactly helping.

'But,' he tried to assure himself, 'soon the wounds will heal, I'll get some automail, leave that bastard, and try to find a way home. If I came back once, I'm sure I'll be able to do it again.'

Not at all convinced, he drowsed away.

* * *

After a few hours of restless sleep filled with even more nightmares, Edward woke up. Muted sunlight was blinding his eyes, and because of that, at first he didn't realize he wasn't alone. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, the awful smell and ache in his chest making breathing more challenging than it should be. A muffled sneeze reached his ears; he flinched, startled, and looked to his left.

His father was once again reading in the armchair, and a small glass of water was standing on the nightstand. He briefly considered trying to reach it, but quickly discarded the idea; it was too far, and even if he didn't admit it to himself, right now he was too weak to move.

Taking in a hoarse breath, he prepared himself mentally for the humiliating task of asking his Father if he could pass him the water; but before he even opened his mouth, Hohenheim was already standing over him with a worried smile on his face and the glass in his massive hand; his stench growing stronger due to the short distance between them and making Ed's stomach clench with queasiness.

His Father's other hand delicately set under Edward's head and lifted it slightly. The boy growled. He jerked away, ignoring the ache in his stumps and chest, and glared at the older man.

"I don't need your help, bastard!" He wheezed. "Just give –cough- me –cough, cough- the damn-" More coughs escaped him, and soon he started coughing uncontrollably, not stopping until he expectorated a small lump of sickly green mucus and a few specks of rusty red liquid. He averted his eyes, telling himself that the blood was no big deal. After that, he lay down and tried to calm his respiration with breathing exercises Teacher had taught him; pointless endeavor, really, considering that the irritating chest ache wasn't exactly helping. Hohenheim looked at him sternly, not quite managing to hide the fear and concern shining in his eyes.

"Edward, you're very sick. You show symptoms of pneumonia- that's not surprising, considering how long you had lain there, in that dirty snow. You're probably too weak to hold the glass without spilling everything on yourself, so don't act like a child. I understand that you would rather do everything yourself, I really do. But you're not able to be independent at the moment, so let me help."

He lifted his stubborn child's head and put the drink to his lips. Edward grumbled something inaudible under his breath, but took a few sips nonetheless.

His Father slid his hand out from under Ed's head, set the now half-empty glass on the nightstand and returned to his book, ocasionally shooting the boy a worried glance. Ed observed him for a few seconds with a blank expression, then turned his gaze and looked at the room. It was fairly small, rather cluttered, and, quite frankly, plain ugly. Hideous green wallpaper was peeling in a few places; one, pathetically small picture of a dull landscape hung on the wall above him. The room contained a modest, single bed, a cheap-looking nightstand, a tacky, floral accent armchair in which the old man was sitting, a few tall bookshelves, a beech washstand with a simple mirror above it and a large wooden wardrobe that stood next to the door leading to the rest of the flat. A writing desk full of books, papers, maps and schematics lying in disarray stood under a meanly proportioned window covered by net curtains. Books were everywhere; in the bookshelves, on the desk, on the desk chair, even on the floor. He wouldn't have been surprised if even more were hidden in that wardrobe.

Ed glanced at one tome that laid the closest to him and had to do a double-take.

"What language is that?" It kind of looked a bit like Cretan, if you squinted; he could understand a few words, like 'organic chemistry' (that was probably courtesy of the Gate – it wasn't a language he remembered learning) but the meaning of the rest of the title was a mystery to him.

"German. And before you ask – we are currently in the mechanical world, in a country called Germany." Hohenheim gave the boy a plaintive smile.

"Yeah, I realized I wasn't in Amestris the moment I saw your ugly face." Hohenheim's smile dropped; Ed only smirked. "Anyway. What year is it? The last time I've been here, it was in the middle of some war? I don't hear any sirens or explosions now…"And he was right; when he had been to this place the previous time, the sounds of explosions, alarm sirens and screams had been coming from all directions. Now, all he could hear were sounds of occasionally passing cars.

"So, the year? And are we safe? I can't exactly run away if more zepp-something-or-other decide to attack."He managed to croak out. His throat still hurt like a bitch, but he really didn't want to ask his Father for more water. He could tolerate it; he had endured worse things in his travels with Al.

Al…

The thought of his baby brother made his heart ache with sorrow. Ed wasn't even sure if the transmutation worked, because he survived it. He hoped with all his being that his brother was alive and well.

Hohenheim's answer yanked him out of his musings.

"Don't worry, we're safe. The war has been over for almost seven years now. It's 1923." Ed stared at him in disbelief. _What?_

"Wh- How? Wasn't it just 1917 or something?"

"I don't know 'how' for certain. It seems that the Gate just dispatched you here randomly. It may have been yours or my subconscious that send you in this exact time and space, I'm not sure. I didn't exactly have much time to think about it." there it was again, that annoying little smile. How he'd love to wipe it off the bastard's ugly mug. It was really starting to get on Edward's nerves, and he hadn't even been awake for more than twenty minutes, goddammit. "Considering I had to take care of my son, whom I found yesterday, lying in his own blood, barely conscious." He put on a more serious expression, "Edward, can you tell me what happened? Why are you here?"

"Well," he wheezed. The Desert in his throat was getting unbearable. "After I came back to Amestris through the Gate-" a small cough escaped his mouth, and then a few more. Before he realized what was happening, Hohenheim was already holding his head up and pressing the glass to his lips.

"You need to drink a lot of fluids." When Ed looked at him with an exasperated look, he added gently, "don't be difficult, Edward. It will make you feel better, even if only slightly."

He decided he didn't really have energy to start an argument now, so he drank the water obediently, all the while breathing as shallowly as possible - the flowery smell of his Father's perfume was slowly beginning to fade, giving way to the strong, disgusting stench of rot. After he finished the glass, the old man lay him down and sat down in his chair.

"If you don't feel well enough to tell me what happened, I can wait until you're feeling better?"

"No, no. I will tell you. Maybe you will be able to tell me if there's a way to go back."

Edward cleared his raw throat and told him everything. When he finished, Hohenheim was wearing a thoughtful expression.

"That was some powerful alchemy. I'm impressed." He grinned proudly and Edward rolled his eyes."I'm fairly certain that Al is human again. You say you don't remember much from being at the Gate? I think that was part of your payment - that, and of course you being here. Sadly, we can never be sure of the results, but have faith in your skills, Son."

"There's also the matter of you returning home." He frowned. "I'm sorry, Edward, but there's no way of returning to Amestris, as far as I'm aware. Believe me, I've tried everything I could think of. As I said to you six years ago – alchemy doesn't exist in this world, and I can't think of a way of reaching the Gate without it."

Edward bared his teeth angrily. "I've dealt with worse things before, don't worry. If that's all you have to tell me, then go away. I want to sleep, and I don't want you staring at me like some freak." He turned his head away and, almost as an afterthought, added weakly, "I'm sure I will think of something. You probably haven't looked hard enough."

Hohenheim stood up from the armchair, closed the book and lay it down. He looked at bed and took in the small form of his son; he smiled gently, but it didn't reach his eyes. They were full of worry, fear, and sorrow. He turned around and started walking towards the door. His next words were so quiet that Edward almost didn't hear them.

"I really hope you're right about that, Son. This world isn't a place for you. It's too full of suffering, and you've had enough of it already."

The older man sighed, left the room and quietly closed the door. Silence surrounded him. He ignored the now ever-present ache in his chest, and took a deep breath.

"… Asshole."

With that, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about the other pain in his heart that had nothing to do with his illness.

* * *

 **So! That was chapter 1. Our Eddie** **ends up on Earth, and just so happens to find himself behind Hohenheim's tenement house. _Coincedence?_ Probably... I just didn't know where to send him. **

**(On another note, I hope I used 'tenament house' corrrectly here (lol) - English isn't my first language, so I spend a lot of time making sure the adjectives, nouns - everything, really - are used correctly. But, even after half an hour of contemplating whether or not I used the word properly, I'm not always fully convinced. So... if you see some weirdly phrased sentences, not-fitting adjectives, or anything like that - please tell me so I can fix them!)**

 **I also hope the dream sequence wasn't _too_ confusing... I mean, it was supposed to be, a little, but I hope you made _at least_ some sense of it.**

 **If ya liked it, leave a review! I ya didn't like it, leave a review about how I should kill myself with a spork! Everything is fine here!**

 **Edit: someone pointed out to me that the Thule Society dissolved in 1925 (thanks, I've read the Wikipedia page on them, but was fully convinced they ended in 1933), so I had to change the year to 1923. I want to incorporate them in a few ways, and we're still at the very beginning of the story, so it won't be badly affected. (But please have in mind that this piece of _fiction_ will not be 100% historically accurate, if I will do everything that I want to do with this story.)**

 ** _See ya!_**


	3. Kapitel II: Die Toten Hoffnung

**Komm, süsser Tod**

* * *

 **A/N: Welcome to chapter 2! I hope you still remember this little story :P I'm sorry I haven't uploaded this yet, real life is just too overwhelming.**

 **But, my winter break is coming soon and I'll hopefully be able to write _at least_ one chapter in that time.**

 _ **Oh, and I have a small announcement: If any English native speakers are interested in betaing this story, please PM me! I don't think my little Polish brain can manage this story and not mess up the spelling or grammar, or other important things like these. So please, if there's anyone interested, just write! :) (I'm not really sure I know how to use the "betas" bar, or option, or whatever it is, that's why I ask here)**_

 **Anyway.**

 **Without further ado, let's begin chapter 2! :)**

* * *

Kapitel II: Die Toten Hoffnung

* * *

Going to the bathroom turned out to be the first big challenge.

Edward was laying in his bed, half-awake, the uncomfortable pressure in his bladder making it impossible to return to sleep. He cursed under his breath, and moved himself up on the matress. Prepping himself up on his elbow and trying not to wince at the annoying pain, he lifted his upper body as high as he could, and rested his head on the metal headboard. Ignoring the fact that that even that much movement was making his breathing strained and even more hoarse, he tried to sit up. Balancing himself on his shaky hand, he straightened even more and leaned on the headboard, the feeling of cool metal against his spine making the hair on his arm stand up.

It was too damn warm in there.

He inhaled and choked on a sudden coughing fit. After a few moments, a small amount of disgusting red-green phlegm left his throat and the coughing calmed down, making the stupid ache in his chest even more prominent.

"Stupid lungs. Stupid throat." He grumbled under his nose, moving his legs to the left side of the bed. "Who even gets pneumonia nowadays? It's nothing dangerous at home-"

"You aren't at home anymore." The telltale flowery stench reached him and he made a face. Damn it. Hohenheim. He didn't hear the bastard creeping into his room. "We're as far away from home as one could be. In this world, it's a very dangerous illness. Don't underestimate it." Moving to stand next to Ed, he reached out his hand, trying to decide where to put it. After meeting the boy's aggravated stare, he let it fall limply at his side.

"Don't need your help." putting his foot on the ground, the boy scooted to the edge of the bed, trying not to fall off of it. If he concentrated hard enough, the pain was bearable. He moved to stand up, but a heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Edward, you can't stand up in this state. You're too weak. You shouldn't even be out of bed."

What an annoying prick.

Edward snorted, "If I didn't have to take a piss, I would be sleeping right now, genius. Besides, I'm fine. It doesn't hurt that much. I'm fine." _Concentrate, concentrate. You've done this many times before. Ignoring pain is easy._

"Yes, I can see how fine you are." The old man looked at him scrutinizingly.

Edward's face was bright with an unhealthy blush, with his dirty and sweat soaked golden bangs sticking to his head. The boy's amber eyes, usually piercing and fiery, were glazed over - it seemed as if he wasn't entirely aware of his surroundings. Hohenheim put his hand to the boy's temples and sighed. "Your fever is rising again."

His odor was making Ed noxious again, so he swatted his hand away. "I said, go away. I don't need your help." He tried to stand up, but that only made him more dizzy. He collapsed onto the bed and swore loudly.

Hohenheim made a face. Putting his his hands on the either side of Ed's bandaged torso, he lifted him up.

"What are you doing?! Leave me alone! I don't need your fucking help!" The boy wheezed out as he tried to wriggle out of his grasp; he was twisting and squirming, cursing him and trying to kick his knees, but the older man was just too strong – he held him close as he left Edward's room, not paying attention to the weak, shaking fist that was attempting to break his nose.

"You need to go to the bathroom, and you can't go alone. I'm just helping you, Son." He smiled, and opened the door to the toilet. He put Edward down and lifted the toilet seat. When he took hold of his arm, Ed wrenched away, almost falling into the bathtub. His Father caught him before he could hurt himself, but as soon as the boy was standing upright, he slapped his hand away again.

Situating himself on the closet, he looked irritatedly at the older man. "Oh my god! Go away, would you! I'm not five, I don't need help with taking a fucking piss."

Hohenheim stared at him with indecision for a moment, but did leave the bathroom. Edward lowered the too wide cotton boxers that his Father put him in and sat down. After finishing, he grabbed onto the sink to stand up. His head was spinning and his chest felt like it was on fire; he had to lean on it heavily so he wouldn't fall. He washed his hand as best as he could, and hopped to the wall. Breathing heavily – the pain was getting unbearable; he was lightheaded and felt like he could faint any minute now – he pulled his boxer briefs up and tried to move towards the door to open it. He moved, alright- but instead of reaching the door, he plummeted down and crashed on the gray tiles with a loud thud. Stifling a cry of pain, Ed attempted to pick himself up, but his trembling arm was too weak and he landed on the floor again.

After a few more similar attempts, he could feel angry tears stinging his eyes; he really didn't want to call Hohenheim, but he was so done with this..

The door opened, and his Father jumped to him. His scared expression only angered Edward more. He hovered over him for a few minutes, not really sure what he wouldn't get yelled at for, and after a short internal debate, asked, "Are you okay, Edward? What happened?"

Fuck off, bastard. Don't pretend like you care _now_.

"I'm fine," Ed muttered through clenched teeth. He was trying really hard not to hit that asshole. "Just slipped. I'm getting up, just give me a moment."

He pushed himself up with the last of his strength, panting with exertion, and tried to stand up, once again with poor results – he tipped to the right and his Father had to catch him. He lifted him and started carrying Ed to his room without a word, wearing a tense expression. Ed tried to fight him, but quickly gave up – his kicking and insults were being ignored, and besides, he felt too spent and sore to make a real effort.

Hohenheim laid him gently in the bed and went to refill his glass. He put it on the nightstand next to a half-full bowl of soup that had been standing there untouched ever since Ed threw most of its contents up yesterday evening, and pulled a thermometer from his pocket.

He held it to Ed's mouth; Ed told him to go fuck himself.

After a couple of minutes of the usual discussion, the boy grabbed the thermometer and sticked it under his tongue, all the while grumbling profanities under his breath. They waited a few moments, and then he spat it out on the dirty covers. Picking up the glass device, his Father shot him a stern look that got replaced with fear and concern it as soon as he looked at the results. He stood up and left the room with the wash bowl under his arm, not paying mind to Ed's questioning gaze. He came back with a wet towel and the bowl full of tepid water.

"It's worse than I thought – the bar showed 38°C. I'm going out to get the doctor now. He doesn't live far, so we'll be back in an hour at worst. I'm going to put this bowl on the nightstand so you can wet the cloth with cool water every couple minutes." He looked like he wanted to add something, but he closed his mouth and after giving Ed some water, put the cold cloth to his forehead without a word.

It felt delightful after a night under thick covers. He let out a quiet sigh, and closed his eyes. Hohenheim looked at him scrutinizingly to make sure he was fine, and with a small exhale of his own turned around and left the room. Ed could hear the sound of the key turning in the front door's lock, and then the flat fell silent.

He lay in that apparent silence for a long while, listening to his own heartbeat and croaky breathing, every exhale burning his lungs, trying to hear the sounds of the outside world; he could make out the rare sounds of cars passing, the occasional incomprehensible conversations. Weirdly, even though he knew from his father that Munich was a rather big city, it all seemed less lively than he remembered Central being.

The cloth on his forehead was getting too warm, so he opened his eyes and searched for the washbowl. He slumped against the headboard and moved himself a little closer to it and threw the towel in sloppily, spilling the water all over the nightstand. Disregarding the mess, he focused on his so far futile attempt at rinsing a soaking towel with only one hand. He eventually gave up, and plopped the thing on his forehead, wetting his bangs and his whole face. _Leave rinsing cloths to a guy with one arm. What a joke._

He missed his automail.

Deciding he shouldn't go down that dangerous train of thought right now (and probably never, if he could help it), he instead looked through the only window in his room and noticed the first streams of sunlight piercing through gray clouds, changing the sky from a sombre black to muted lilacs and blues. _Another difference_. The colors were lackluster and flat, sunlight missed that brightness and warmth he remembered.

As he closed his eyes, he wondered if everything on this side of the Gate was so dull.

* * *

Al stood motionlessly in front of the Gate, with his back turned to him. His bare body was scarily pale, and his skin looked paper-thin; Ed could see the blue veins in his forearms, even from this distance. Moving closer to the boy, he tried to call his name, but no sound escaped his lips. For some reason, he didn't think anything of that; he just shrugged it off and kept walking towards Al.

Halfway through the distance, he became aware of a strange, unnerving noise. Laughter. High-pitched, terrifying laughter.

A feeling of recognition passed over him, making his blood freeze. He had no idea how he knew that, but he was sure it was the Gatekeepers laughing.

Never a good thing.

He quickly covered the rest of the way. He needed to make sure his little brother was fine, that the Gate hadn't had hurt him, that he was alive-

A second laughter reached him, and he stopped dead in his tracks, shocked. The voice that was laughing was softer, more melodic; he would've recognized it anywhere, but it wasn't _who_ was laughing that chilled him. It was the way it sounded – cruel, cold, completely deranged. Nothing like his brother, and yet it was _his voice_.

Al turned around, his empty eyes staring into nothingness. He kept laughing, his whole body shaking. Something about that image was so horrific, so revolting, so fundamentally wrong that Ed had to suppress the urge to vomit.

Suddenly, the Gate fell silent and a massive suit of armor appeared behind the younger boy. It laid it's gloved hands on one of his shoulders, and to Ed's horror, began pulling. A gross, wet sound of muscles being pulled could be heard. The armor ripped Al's left arm off completely, and, after lifting it's helmet up, put the torn body part inside itself. It proceeded to do that with the rest of Alphonse's limbs, coating the ground with thick, red blood. Edward could only watch; at first he tried to move and stop that thing, but it was as if he was glued to the ground. He couldn't do anything, not even scream at it to stop or for Al to move, do something. He could only watch.

The boy's laughter never wavered; his face never showed any signs of pain. Of any emotion, really – he kept staring into the distance with his empty eyes, not seeing the blood or Edward's aghast expression.

The suit of armor, Alphonse's vessel for four years, now so bloodied a stranger would've thought it was always this red, moved it's big hands to Al's head. After a few minutes - which felt more like eons - of pulling, it finally tore off it from the rest of his body.

The armor turned to Ed, and slowly put Al's head inside itself. The laughter ceased.

It moved towards Ed, leaving red footprints behind it, and spoke in Al's sweet voice.

"Brother…"

Edward jolted awake and the nausea that was clutching at his stomach overwhelmed him, making him vomit all over the covers. After he finished emptying his stomach, he sat more upright and pulled them off of himself. Breathing with difficulty, he looked around the room.

"You did this to me."

Al jumped at him with a crazed look on his face, eyes full of hatred. Edward screamed and-

Opened his eyes, gasping for air. His eyes darted around the room, looking for his brother, but found no one. He was alone. A dream? It had to have been; he was in his bed, with the now discomfortingly warm cloth stuck to his forehead. His covers weren't covered in puke, the air wasn't overflowing with the acid smell of it and was less stuffy. Al wasn't there. Besides, Al would never attack him like that… right? A dream.

Just a dream.

* * *

His Father arrived with the doctor around 20 minutes later, giving Edward enough time to calm down and start reading the book that laid next to the bowl on the nightstand. It had suffered a bit from the water spillage, but he didn't care; he just needed something, _anything_ other than sleep to pass the time - he tried it a few times after the nightmare, but every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the image of Al's pale face and destroyed body. Only his eyes showed emotions - hatred and contempt, and Edward _knew_ it was all for him-

Stop that. _You're reading, enjoy your book. Don't think about that_ , _you don't want to retch all over yourself. Focus on your book_

He didn't understand half the words, but what he could (or at least what he told himself he could) wasn't making much sense. He was reading the second chapter, not truly understanding anything, or even bothering to care, when he heard the front door being opened. He happily threw the book away, his eagerness to try reading something in a foreign language to forget the dream long gone. A muffled conversation reached his ears, but he couldn't catch the words. By the time his Father opened the doors to his room, both men were quiet.

The doctor was a small, hunched man; his wavy, white hair stood out in all directions, cheerful black eyes hid behind thick glasses. All that gave him an air of a mad scientist - and that's without counting his silvery goatee.

Ed's Father walked up to the boy, his face seemingly calm and collected. Seemingly, because he couldn't hide the outright panic and fear painfully visible in his bespectacled eyes. He brushed away the bangs stuck to Ed's damp temples, avoiding the boy's angry gaze. Ed grabbed his wrist and forced his hand away.

"Really good job there with leaving me alone with rinsing that towel, bastard."

Hohenheim sighed and put on a kind smile. If the boy was still able to make snide remarks, it wasn't fatal.

"Edward, this is doctor Bruno Fauerbach. Say hello."

'Oh, fuck you too.' Not only did his Father ignore him completely, he was treating him like an ill-mannered brat! He couldn't wait to get automail and wipe off that annoying grin off of the bastard's face.

Clenching his teeth and picturing Hohenheim with a broken nose, Ed greeted the man, even though he was sure the doctor didn't understand any of his words.

Doctor Fauerbach grinned, amusement visible in his wrinkled eyes. He walked up to his bed and put his leather bag on the floor.

" _Good morning, Herr Edward. I'm Doctor Fauerbach. I'm going to examine you today. Your Father is very worried about you._ "

Ed blinked; he could hear the man was speaking in a different language, but he understood all of it. Was this another one of Gate's 'gifts'? So he couldn't understand the written language, only the speech? _Damn it._

Fauerbach opened his bag, and pulled out a thermometer. Ed made a face; he really didn't like hospitals and doctors. Besides, he had his temperature measured earlier already! What a pair of paranoiacs. Even though the man seemed likeable, bringing him was an overreaction on bastard's part. He was fine; just a little warm. And what of it?

He opened his mouth obediently though, and let the doctor stick the thermometer inside. After a while, the man pulled it out, looked at the bar and tsked disapprovingly.

" _You said it was 38°C before, Herr Hohenheim? It's risen up again, then. 40°C. Not good._ "He walked up to the nightstand and wet a fresh towel. He wringed it out easily, letting the excess water drop back into the bowl, and set it delicately on Edward's temples. He looked scrutinizingly at the boy's not-so-fresh bandages and frowned.

" _Are these wounds fresh, Herr Hohenheim?_ "He turned to Hohenheim with a serious expression and then fished out some new bandages from his bag. Hohenheim nodded tentatively. The doctor turned around and started unbandaging Ed's shoulder. Checking the pink, still unhealed flesh, he started talking again, " _You need to change these more often. His immune system is already weakened by pneumonia and loss of two limbs. Not only that, but his stunted height-_ "

" _WHO ARE YOU CALLING A PINT-SIZED FLEA WHO'S SO SHORT YOU HAVE TO USE A MAGNYFYING GLASS TO EVEN SEE HIS WOUNDS, OLD MAN?!_ "Ed screeched instinctively, not even noticing he was speaking German; sweaty and red in the face, spitting saliva everywhere, his hair dirty and all over the place - a _truly_ threatening picture.

The doctor didn't seem to care about his patient's outburst at all, and continued as if nothing had happened.

" _-his stunted height and general physique indicate that the system wasn't strong to begin with. Leaving the bandages unchanged and wounds uncleaned for long periods of time will lead to more infections, and eventually to sepsis._ "Finishing wrapping Edward's small torso, he moved to his leg, and started the process all over again. For a long while, the only sounds in the room were Ed's occasional coughs and doctor's soft humming.

" _…We do not want that…_ "Hohenheim seemed to be on verge of hysteria now; He was staring at Edward with dread in his eyes, as if the boy could die at any moment.

'What an idiot.' But Ed wasn't feeling so sure about it himself; if what the good doctor said was correct, and he needed to clean himself and change his bandages more often, then he had a problem. If he wasn't so tired and in pain all the time, he could probably manage. But he was, and he was weak, and if his morning expedition was any indication, he could barely walk a distance of two meters without asphyxiating himself. Asking the old bastard for any help was a no-go; he would rather bite his tongue off than ask that man for _any_ help.

" _What? Sepsis? Not if you don't want your son's organs to stop working and him to die._ "Letting out a light chuckle, doctor Fauerbach hid the thermometer and leftover bandages in his bag. He closed it with a metallic click and straightened slightly.

" _That's all I can do for you. Remember to bathe every few days,"_ he glanced in Ed's direction and his face srunched in disapproval, "... _you should actually bathe today, if you can. And change the bandages at least once a day. Don't forget about fluids and cool compresses for his fever. As for pneumonia,_ "he patted Ed's head and ignored the boy's annoyed growl, " _you need to rest a lot. And I recommend an inhaler- it will help with your breathing. I'll come by tomorrow after my clinic's closed with one and to check on you._ " Sending an encouraging smile to Ed, he shook Hohenheim's hand and left.

Hohenheim kept staring at him with wide eyes and pursed lips, probably afraid that if he left the room something horrible would happen. It lasted for about five very awkward minutes, but then Ed's coughing fit pulled him out of his trance. He startled and dashed to the bed, almost stumbling over his own legs several times.

He reached out his trembling hands, clearly not knowing what to do; Fauerbach's words must've scared him badly.

"Just –cough- give me water –cough, cough-…" Ed's words woke him up; he practically sprinted out of the room and came back some time later, managing to spill most of the water on himself. Not trusting his own hands, he shoved the glass into Ed's own trembling palm. After a few gulps of the drink, the coughing calmed down, and he could breathe a bit easier.

Edward sighed weakly; it wasn't even three days in this world yet, and he was getting sick of this. His every move was wobbly, he was exhausted even from _sitting up in a fucking bed_ , he hadn't taken a deep breath since he ended up in this stupid place, because the burning pain in his chest and the coughing were making that impossible; his stumps hurt and he couldn't even leave the bed without the help of a man he despised. And he was so _tired_ all the time,and so weak, so pathetically weak…

'Stop that, you fucking softy. You've had worse. _Al've had worse._ Al've had existed only as a soul for four years because of you, you fuck. You should at least have enough decency to stop crying over every little injury. Get ahold of yourself, idiot. You will get automail soon, leave this place and it will be okay.'

That little pep talk considerably lifted his spirits; the fire of determination that has been slowly dying out kindled in his eyes with a renewed resolve. Looking up at his old man, he smirked slighly.

"Hey, Hohenheim.. Do you know any good automail mechanics here? To be honest, they don't even have to be that good.. Anything would be great, as long as it's good enough for me to be able to stand.." He was babbling now, not noticing Hohenheim's shocked look; the thought of getting a new leg, standing up again, not being so dependable on this bastard… even though it wouldn't be Winry's, it would be so useful, so much better than a wooden leg or even worse, nothing…

He closed his mouth, putt off by the lack of response. Did the bastard not know anyone? He glanced at him and his eyes widened at the incredibly sad, compassionate expression on the old man's face. He quirked his brow up, the feeling of unease growing in his chest. What now?

Hohenheim closed his eyes; he had been anxious to tell Edward about this since the beginning. He feared his reaction and his words. But there was no choice, was there? He couldn't delay telling him any further.

"Edward, there is no automail in this world."

* * *

 **A semi-cliffhanger! What will Ed do, or say at these terrifying words?! _Keep reading to find out!_**

 **By the way, can you imagine what it would feel like to have something as vital as automail for Ed taken away? I would probably cry. I hope he won't do that, though - that would be just too sad. (I know I'm the author and technically I should know if he will or won't cry. Shhhh. Don't think about that.)**

 **I hope you liked the chapter. Remember to review, favorite, follow, all that good stuff!**

 **See you in the next one... where we go somewhere completely different! Maybe even a parallel dimension?! (*wink wonk*)**

 **Till the next time!**


	4. Kapitel III: Der verborgenen Stadt

**Komm, süsser Tod**

* * *

 **Kapitel III: Der verborgenen Stadt**

* * *

It'd been at least two hours since Edward told them to go back to Central, so he could destroy the city. Rose had waited patiently for him to emerge from the narrow passageway in the timeworn church; she'd laid the bleeding boy calling himself Wrath down on a dusty bench and tried to patch him up as best as she could without any gauzes, ask him if he was okay. He'd stared at her with vacant eyes and asked her to leave him alone.

She tried not to think too hard about everything that happened, instead concentrating on trying to entertain her baby with funny faces and noises, on his warmth in her arms. It helped for a while, but as time passed, the feeling of unease that kept squeezing at her stomach prompted her to once again go down the steep stairs leading to the hidden city. Without any response from Wrath if he would be alright alone, she tightened the blankets covering her baby and hunched her head to fit in the small entrance.

Instantly, the temperature dropped a few degrees. The air draft coming from the hidden city was cold and reeked of dust and death, making the hair on the back on her neck stand up. But it wasn't only the chill seeping through her too thin (and honestly, quite ridiculous) dress that was causing her stomach to turn with anxiety induced nausea – something in the air was telling her that the situation has changed. That something was wrong. She exited the passageway and gasped.

Something was _definitely_ wrong.

Rose wasn't sure how long it would've taken Ed to destroy that place, but she knew he was a talented alchemist - after two hours, surely some change in the landscape should've been noticeable? Yet, the entire city looked the same as when she'd left with her child in her arms and Wrath leaning on her shoulder.

Going down the stairs as quickly as she could with an infant in her arms, she strained her ears for any sound – with the city utterly devoid of life, she would've heard a scream or a cry for help without any problems.

But there was nothing; only that eerie, mind numbing silence. Her child's every squeal, her every breath roared in her head. She hated this city - it was impure, with an aura of dread hanging in the air; it looked as if someone had taken it out from a horror novel, and that thick, deafening silence was the worst.

Nearing the ballroom, she significantly slowed down her pace. Her heartbeat increased, breaths became shallow and quick. She really didn't want to see that place. The intrusion of her mind and soul she had been undergoing every day in this city. Edward's corpse, lifeless and staring blankly at the ceiling. Alphonse's sacrifice… This building has seen so much evil. She really didn't want to remember any of it. _Get a hold of yourself. Calm down._

Adjusting her baby's position so she could hold it with one arm, she pushed the heavy, luxurious brown door wide open. A stream of blinding light temporarily hindered her vision; squinting, she looked around the ballroom in search of Edward.

Walking inside, Rose turned her head around in every direction, trying to take in the sight - she'd spent a lot of time in this building, but she didn't have any memory of most of it. The ballroom really was marvelous. Loges with railings decorated with beautiful bas-reliefs overlooked the room; grand crystal chandeliers that hanged from the ornate ceiling portraying strange winged children basked the space in a rich golden glow, giving it a sense of otherworldliness. A heavy crimson curtain draped over the far wall with its end spread on the dark floor. She turned her head away from the place where Edward's body had laid not even three hours ago with a flinch, when something bizarre caught her attention.

A small, maybe 10-year-old boy laid completely naked in the middle of a big circle that looked like a transmutation array - the most intricate one she's ever seen. She wondered briefly what it was for, but a delicate moan coming from the child distracted her from those thoughts. His eyes hidden behind a mess of sandy hair fluttered open, revealing a brilliant green-gray color. Rose could see a whole set of emotions crossing his face: from terror and panic so deep, it twisted his face into an ugly grimace, changing to confusion and bewilderment, which then turned into a mix of both – the panic wasn't as severe, but he still looked ready to cry. His lips parted, and the name of a person Rose knew was responsible for this escaped them.

"Ed? Edward?"

 _That voice._ She remember it saying goodbye to his brother not so long ago. While in the middle of sacrificing his own life.

How was he alive, and what happened to his armor? And why did he look so young? Wasn't he just a year younger than Edward? All these questions, and more, flew through her head as she stared at him with astonishment, not knowing what to do or say.

Alphonse noticed her after a few seconds. Panic and fear completely left his face, giving way to even more confusion. Glancing down, he noticed his lack of clothing and covered himself, blushing with embarrassment.

"Uh… I'm so sorry."

She blinked and smiled apologetically. "Oh, don't worry about it. I'll go to search for some clothes in Dante's chambers right away. Don't go anywhere, Al. Also, could you hold Cain for a few moments? He'll be probably asleep for a few hours at least, so don't worry, he won't cry." Smiling heartily, she gave Al the child, and with that, left the now completely bewildered boy to search for some clothes. He stared at her receding figure with perplexity, until she disappeared around the corner. Gaping at the infant sleeping peacefully in his arms, he wondered what in the world had happened.

 _I swear, Ed, you better explain this to me soon…_ _Wait. How does she know my name?_

* * *

Dante's chambers were located in the very back of the mansion, protected from any uninvited guests by a labyrinth of corridors, halls, and many, many staircases. Searching them for any male clothing was a rather tiresome work – she had to dig through the heaps of corsets, lacy gloves, hats decorated with flowers, and hundreds of puffy gowns, most of them in flashy pink.

After about half an hour of searching, she managed to pick out black slacks that were undoubtedly too big for Alphonse, and one, meager shirt yellowed with age. Satisfied with her findings, she started heading back towards the ballroom. There, she found Al mindlessly rocking her baby and staring at the ceiling frescoes with amazement visible in his wide eyes. Rose walked up to him, and after taking Cain from his tired arms and handing him the clothes, she turned around to give him at least a small sense of privacy.

Admiring the intricate array under her feet, she moved to its centre. It was amazing; she didn't know a whole lot about alchemy, but from what she did understand, the more complex the transmutation, the more elaborate the circle needed to be – it must've been for some pretty difficult alchemy. It reminded her of a bird with outstretched wings, ready to fly away at any time.

"Excuse me…" It was Alphonse, now fully dressed and standing, with a sheepish smile adorning his face, "I'm sorry, but.. How do you know my name? I don't think we've ever met…"

Her eyes widened in shock. What? Did he have amnesia? Was this some more alchemy stuff she'd be better off without knowing about?

"Al… What are you talking about? We've known each other for months now. Did you hit your head? What's the last thing you remember?"

"I didn't hit my head! A-and well, I'm sorry, but I don't know you. The last thing I remember is putting my hands on the human transmutation circle to bring mom-" At that moment, he gasped, and started looking around in panic. "Lady! Have you seen my Brother here? He has gold hair and is a bit shorter than me. You can't miss him." He turned around and took a step towards the great door to search for his Brother, but her hand on his shoulder stopped him. Turning around, he met her sad gaze and shuddered involuntarily.

"Alphonse. My name is Rose; you've known me for a year now. I'm not really sure what happened, but I know it must be Edward's doing. He…" She stopped to collect her thoughts. If the last thing he recalled was their attempt at resurrecting their mother, then, if she remembered Ed's stories correctly, he should be 11, mentally. Blanching slightly at the thought, she started talking again, "…Alphonse, I need to ask you something. How old are you?"

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, "I'm going to be eleven in a few months, why?"

"That's what I feared. Al, don't panic, but something's happened. As I said, I don't know exactly what, but… the last time we spoke, you were fifteen. Edward must've done something for you to lose four years worth of memory."

"F-fifteen? I…" How was that possible? He couldn't recall anything after that transmutation. Just to be sure, he tried to look back at everything that has happened today. Drawing the circle… Touching it… The golden light emanating from it turning to an alarming purple – a sign of a rebound… And then pain, unbearable pain, as if his body was being torn apart; the last thing he saw was his Brother's outstretched hand, and his terrified voice calling his name… But then, there was more – he recalled a bright whiteness, intense and painful even through closed eyelids; then, someone holding him close, crying… Edward. Al remembered his hands, and his tears dropping on his cheeks, nose, lips; his warmth and barely audible "I did it" repeated over and over… in a much deeper… voice…

… A voice that in no way could belong to an 11-year-old.

Paling, he looked back at Rose's serious face. "I guess- I guess something has happened. Maybe we should find Edward and ask him about it."

"There's the thing, Al. I have no idea where-" spotting something dark in her peripheral vision, she stopped mid sentence and turned her gaze towards it. The moment her mind registered what she was looking at, something turned in her stomach.

A black lump of clothes laying on the edge of the array. The anxiety that has been continuously growing in her gut skyrocketed; her eyes widened as she stumbled towards it hesitantly. She picked up Edward's tank top and sucked in a shaky breath.

"Oh no…"

"What is it, Rose?"

"It's Ed. I think I know what he did."

* * *

"Edward, there's no automail in this world."

All plans and plots forming in his head came to a halt.

What?

Ed furrowed his brow. _Were his jokes always this unfunny?_

"Come on, old man, stop with-" But his snarky retort shriveled in his throat when he saw Hohenheim's eyes. Soft, sympathetic, without a hint of dishonesty in them.

Tasting bile on his tongue, he swallowed with difficulty, briefly closed his eyes and tried to collect his thoughts.

 _I- Well. Fuck. Okay… Okay._

Exhaling through his nose, he managed to croak out, "So… what _do_ they have?"

Nervous golden eyes locked on his Father's identical ones. A small sigh escaped the man's mouth.

"They are far behind Amestris. Only after the Great War did the technology start to really develop… They're still stuck with wooden and, to be honest, quite crude contraptions."

He sat down in the armchair and rested his hands on his knees.

"I've seen a few, and I think I should tell you – arm prosthetics are very underdeveloped… I think you should forget about them, at least for now. I'm not- I will try to get you a wooden leg as soon as possible." He stood up, and once again looked at his son with those soft, sad eyes. At that moment Edward hated them and the pity lurking in their depths more than anything in either of two worlds.

"I really am sorry." He awkwardly cleared his throat and eyed the door. "I need to go now, I'll be back in a few hours. I'll help you with the bath Fauerbach was talking about then. Is that okay?" Tentatively, as if he was walking on glass, he moved towards the door. With the last glance full of remorse, he left the room, and then the apartment. The flat fell silent once again. Edward rested his arm on his too-warm forehead and stared at the ceiling with shock.

No automail. Only simple prosthetics. Wooden ones.

 _No arm_. No arm for who knew how long.

Feeling the beginning of a migraine blooming behind his eyes, he decided he should take a nap.

Taking a nap turned out to be impossible. His mind was racing. Without any distractions, he involuntarily decided to torture himself by reminiscing about all the check-ups with Winry - as if he wasn't miserable enough already. He remembered her blazing gaze, her smile while she worked on his arm or leg; her excited ramblings about all the newest technology, her enthusiastic lectures on the workings of automail whenever he couldn't stop himself and asked her about it, just to see her talk about something so passionately. And, frankly, even though he would never say it out loud, especially in her presence – he did listen to them, always; her voice always sounded so different then, and she had an amazing way with words when it came to explaining automail; she made it sound almost like an art form. Thanks to that knowledge, he could fix all the small oversights witch alchemy without going back to Resembool after every little fight.

Of course, he wasn't even half as good as Winry – that goes without saying. But he did understand roughly how his arm was built, and could name most of the various wires, electric motors and pneumatic actuators inside..

An idea came to him, and a smirk broke out on his face. If Winry was there, he'd have kissed her without thinking.

 _Of course. If there's no automail, I'll just have to make it myself._

* * *

 **And that was chapter 3!**

 **Some Al action, some Ed angst (but what's an FMA fic without Ed angst, let's be real here)!**

 **I hope Rose and Al are IC, because it was IMPOSSIBLE to write the parts taking place in Amestris. I'd just stare at the monitor for hours and try to think _what would Rose think there? How would Al behave?_ I hope it's realistic.**

 **Also, I named her baby Cain, because I like to think that she's still mourning her boyfriend - I never bought RosexEd, I mean - she wanted that guy back from the dead, why would she move on to Ed so easily?**

 **(but nevermind that, I don't want to start any ship wars...)**

 **I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please, leave a review if you did! Or if you didn't - constructive criticism is always needed.**

 **Till the next time, whenever that is!**


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